


Richard Curtis Can Go Stick His Head In A Pig

by errantcomment



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, darcy and jane are friends, tony and loki are friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantcomment/pseuds/errantcomment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy works for SHIELD- Sensual and Hedonistic Ideas for Exclusive and Luxury Delights Inc. One day a punter comes through. He's irritable, British, and he wants Darcy to escort him to a dinner...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Richard Curtis Can Go Stick His Head In A Pig

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Five Avengers Who Were Terrible Phone Sex Operators and One Avenger Who Was Really Good at It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/485975) by [storiesfortravellers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers). 



> For this Avengers Remix I did. You should read the others, they're pretty good!
> 
> Beta'd at four am.

The phone in front of her rang and Darcy picked it up. 

“Hello?” she purred. She’d got good at purring. It was almost a speciality. 

“What are you wearing?” The man on the other end of the line asked it in a whisper, with an echo that suggested a bathroom. Darcy looked down at her silk blouse and sensible skirt.

“Well, because I knew you’d be calling, so I’ve got my black negligee on. No bra, and satin panties.” She looked at her slightly battered Converses. “And six inch stilettos.”

“Do you have a garter-belt?” He was already breathing heavily. Darcy shrugged. Why not?

She hadn’t set out to work for a sex line. She’d actually just wanted a summer job with a chance of picking up a few hour during term time. She’d accidentally found Sensual and Hedonistic Ideas for Exclusive and Luxury Delights Inc., which catered to the most exclusive clientele—her office-mate Jane swore blind she’d once got one of the British royal family. And at some point over the summer, since the exclusive clientele paid very well for their anonymous luxury jollies, Darcy had decided she could take a year out of school and build up some funds. She had been pretty close to burning out anyway, and at least the guys on the other end of the phone never wanted to know her opinion on the Bill of Rights from a post-structuralist point of view. The guy on the other end of the phone made a noise like someone had karate-chopped him in the throat and hung up.

“They never say thank you,” Darcy complained to no one in particular.

“You always say that.” Jane flicked a rubber band at her. “I never have that problem.”

“But your clients all have to call you Mistress.”

“Told you you should have gone domme,” Jane said smugly, getting up.

“Yeah, maybe. Are you getting coffee, Mistress?” Darcy put air quotes round ‘Mistress’ and waggled her mug. Jane took it with a roll of her eyes, and wandered off in search of caffeine. Darcy’s phone rang.

“Hello?” she purred. One day a future lover might actually want her to purr like that. Darcy was pretty sure it would kill her libido deader than the dinosaurs. No wait, not dinosaurs, dinosaurs had like birdy ancestors. Deader than them.

“Are you free tonight?” the British guy at the other end sounded pretty businesslike considering it was around lunchtime and he probably had his dick out furtively under the desk. 

“For you honey, all night.” Darcy figured that was as good a response as any. It really wasn’t up to her how this guy got his kicks.

“Good. Please dress for a formal dinner. Where would you like to meet?” 

“Uh...” Darcy rallied. She’d had weirder than this, after all. “At the venue?”

“No good, I’ll meet you at my hotel. Do you have an email address?”

A long silence followed this. Finally, Darcy said, “You’re spending an awful lot of money on a prank call, Mister.”

“What? This isn’t a prank. I need an escort tonight.” Foreign and irritable. Maybe it was a member of the British royal family. 

“Prince William?”

“What?”

“Never mind. This isn’t the escort department. It’s the chatline.” Darcy picked up a pen and twirled it thoughtfully. Maybe it was Hugh Grant.

“Damn, really?” In the background a phone started to ring.

Or Colin Firth. That would pretty good. “Really really.”

“Damn it... Could you do it anyway?”

“What, go to dinner?”

“Well, yes. I should think you’ll do.” And now there was a hint of a smile in his voice. “In fact, I think you’ll be even better than what I originally hoped for.”

Darcy gave the phone a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A phone started ringing in the client’s background. 

“Oh for... Listen, do it, I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“Well, you’ll have to talk to my boss lady. The email address—”

“Is on the website, right?” He sounded impatient. 

“Yeah I guess.” Darcy said, trying not to sound affronted. Luckily, years of crap hospitality jobs had taught her the pitch and spin of giving out contact details for another department.

“Fine.” And he hung up. Without saying thank you, Darcy noticed. Jane came back in, holding coffee.

“You okay?” She frowned and handed Darcy a mug. Darcy took it in both hands. It was sweet and full of creamer, just how she liked it. 

“Yeah, just kind of a weird call...” She gave Jane the short version. Jane shrugged at the end of it.

“You can report him. Natasha takes a pretty dim view of people freaking out the employees.”

Natasha was... Actually, it was sort of unclear about what her role actually was, but what Darcy did know that she was one of the best burlesque performers in the business. When she wasn’t performing in exotic locales for vast quantities of money, she alleviated the boredom of bespelled and rich people giving her extravagant gifts by helping run SHIELD Inc’s phone and internet sex operations. Well, maybe not the bit about bespelled rich people, but Darcy felt that was probably more interesting. Probably. The long and the short of it was that if you called her, or emailed about a problem you were having, she dealt with it. Possibly by crushing a man’s head with her thighs. Possibly.

Her phone rang, the inside line this time. She eyeballed the phone. Jane shrugged and picked up her own phone. 

“Alright you bad bad boy, are you down on your knees?”

Darcy sighed. No help there. She picked up the phone.

“Lewis. I just recieved an email about you.” It was Natasha. Sometimes Darcy had to remind herself she had at least three inches on Natasha. (Also about twenty pounds but she tried not to think about that bit so much.)

“You know SHIELD takes a very dim view of inter-departmental poaching?”

That was the other thing about Natasha. In another world she would have made a very good super-villain. Apart from the name Natasha Romanoff, she could sound completely neutral but have you break out in a cold sweat. 

“Uh, yeah, I told him it wasn’t my department but he insisted. You can listen to the call.”

“I did. Why do you think I’m letting you do it?” 

Darcy almost spilt her coffee.

“You are?”

“Yes. His credit clears, and he asked for you specifically."

Darcy gave pause for a moment. "Wait, how?"

"You were the only one to take a two-minute call at the time he specified."

"Oh," said Darcy dumbly.

"We can’t stop you from taking the job if you want it,” Natasha said.

“Good?” Darcy tried, hoping that was the right answer.

“Very good.” Natasha told her how much he had offered. Darcy whistled.

“Indeed.” Did she sound amused. Darcy realised Natasha was a real person and all, and therefore must have a sense of humour. She just didn’t think she’d ever get proof. It was a little bit scary. “I’ll email the client’s file over to you.”

“He has a file?” Darcy hauled the notebook she kept for doodling and the occasional shopping-list over to herself and wrote ‘File’.

“And you’ll need to report to Clint Barton at five pm for detail.”

“Detail?” Darcy wrote ‘Car??’ Sometimes Natasha was like a tiny general. The Napoleon of Porn. She coughed trying not to laugh.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Darcy saluted at the Chippendale calendar Jane had got in the Secret Santa.

“At ease, soldier.” 

Darcy almost dropped the receiver. By the time she had recovered herself, Natasha had hung up.

Jane was watching her, like the nosy tiny person she was. Why was everyone at this place so tiny?

“Who goosed you?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” Darcy turned on her computer screen and opened the works email. The file turned out to be a pdf document about twenty pages long, so she decided to finish her coffee and tell Jane the rest of the story. When she was finished, Jane’s eyes were so wide they were threatening to fall out of her face and roll around the room in astonishment. Which was kind of icky actually. She leapt out of her chair and scurried round to Jane’s side to take a look. At a glance, someone had just scoured Google and put the first ten pages of results in one place for her.

“Loki Odinson. Don’t know him.” She sounded kind of disappointed.

“Dunno.” Darcy shrugged and flicked through the pdf, which was mainly clippings from Time magazine with some typed up notes, noting what Loki Odinson might want to discuss, what kind of wine he liked, everything an escort might need to know to make her client’s evening as pleasing as possible. “I’ve heard of the Asgard Corporation though. No wonder he can afford it.”

There were a couple of blurry photos. Apparently Loki Odinson didn’t like having his photo taken. “You’re so lucky. Maybe you’ll meet Hugh Hefner and he’ll make you a star.”

“It’s a charity dinner. Everyone will be too buoyed up by a sense of self-righteousness do-good to even notice me.”

“But what if he’s not as blurry as he looks but actually incredibly handsome and offers to take you away from all this?” That was the thing about Jane. She was really smart, like, doctorate in astrophysics smart, but she read a lot of romance novels, and watched a lot British rom-coms and therefore had a slightly idealised view of what men were actually like. Despite her previous experience, Jane still held out that some day a dashing prince would sweep her off her feet. 

“I think that might be a comb-over. And I bet he’s really short. And I’m going to have to play nice while he shows me off like he didn’t pay for me,” Darcy said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

Jane wrinkled her nose.

“You are such a cynic.”

In another life, Jane would have definitely been a Disney princess. Birdies and everything.

“You need to stop watching Richard Curtis movies.” Darcy advised, and got back to her homework.

 

Five pm found her in ‘detail’, which turned out to be the Napoleon of Porn’s code for ‘we’re gonna make you pretty’. SHIELD Inc boasted a wardrobe that would have made the most hardened wardrobe mistress tear off her little pin-cushion wrist-band thing and weep in ecstasy. It was overseen by Mr Coulson himself, but as a mere peon, Darcy was being ‘looked after’ by Clint Barton, who had nice arms and apparently always looked about two minutes from shanking someone. Darcy was pretty sure it was just the way his face looked, but she had heard in the canteen that people who spilled on his clothes sometimes went missing, only show up a few days later unharmed but with a tendency to break into a sweat at the sight of a dry-cleaner’s. Barton had handed her a selection of dresses and also a handful of lace and elastic that she had to put on before trying anything else. Thus tucked down and pushed up, she flipped through the dresses, thinking that when some of the more essential scaffolding was taken away this evening, she was going to simply deflate like one of those waving inflatable arm things you saw outside second-hand car dealerships. The dresses were all of the LBD cocktail dress style. She tried one on, experimentally. It fitted perfectly. Either Barton had her measurements in a file somewhere or his superpower was knowing them on first glance. She opened the changing room door.

“What do you think?” 

Barton had his arms crossed, and he looked Darcy over appraisingly.

“Try the next one,” he said. Darcy went back in. She must have tried on about twenty dresses before finding one that got a “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

He wandered off, and then came back with a pair of heels.

“A little high?” Darcy eyed them with a certain amount of suspicion.

“Can you walk in them?” Barton folded his arms, heels dangling.

“Well, yeah...” Darcy might wander around in old sneakers, but she had yet to find a pair of heels she couldn’t eventually rock.

“Good.” Barton held them out and Darcy sighed and stepped into them. They were higher than she usually liked, but teamed with the no-frill frills of the dress they did look amazing. Barton was clearly the clothing Super Man. Darcy admired herself in the mirror for a moment. Barton reached out and adjusted her bodice, and then the hemline, glowering like it had done him personal grief. 

“Don’t get lipstick on it,” he warned.

“Well, if I do I can commit seppuku by throwing myself off the shoes.” Darcy tried a practice circuit in the shoes. 

“As long as you don’t get blood on the dress.” Barton wasn’t smiling. Or perhaps that was just his face. Perhaps. 

 

After a couple of goes to get the heels down, she took them off and Barton lead her through to another room where he actually put her hair up and did her make-up. By the time he was done, Darcy didn’t recognise herself in the mirror. He’d done something with glitter around her eyes, and painted her lips in a colour that her grandmother, god rest her sour old soul, would have almost certainly deemed ‘devil hoor red’. She looked dressed to kill. Or at least, she could probably grind her heel so hard into a man’s soft parts that he wished he was dead. 

By eight, she was clutching a stylish little black bag at the designated meeting place. She wasn’t nervous, but she was starting to get the idea about the underwear. It was so complicated, it kept clients out. Unfortunately, it also kept her out, and she was seriously wondering how she was supposed to go to the bathroom ever again. She had a mental image of herself rather like a submarine just before the pressure dial exploded. Or would imploded make more sense? An implosion happened from the inside, didn’t it? So in this case it would be her innards protesting against her underwear. Or the submarine protesting against a giant squid? Someone cleared their throat. Darcy blinked. There was a chauffeur in front of her. He was definitely a chauffeur; a mere driver wouldn’t have spotless white gloves and a peaked cap with a shiny bit on top. 

“Er, sorry, am I in the way?” Darcy stepped to one side. But he smiled professionally and said,

“Miss Darcy?” She had had the opportunity to choose a stage name, but decided tonight was going to be complicated enough without having to remember to answer to the name of Candi or Tiffani or whatever. 

“I’m your ride. Please, allow me...” He opened the back door of the limo. And it was a limo, with tinted windows and the faint smell of cigars, leather, and money. This limo had never transported a hen night or a prom party. Even the door clunked shut in a way that suggested wealth, like it had a trust fund and was just slumming it till it grew up enough to get a real job as a door on the Popemobile or something. Darcy tucked her feet together tidily and pretended like she always got into limos roughly the size of her apartment. Her car-mate, and date for tonight was sat opposite. Darcy almost bit her lip but remembered about the devil hoor lipstick. He certainly didn’t have a comb-over. He actually looked a bit like a B-movie vampire (thanks again Grandma), half hidden in the mood lighting of the limo, his dark hair slicked back and his eyes glittering palely in the half-light. He was even wearing a fancy waistcoat, and the sort of moody good looks that one might associate with Mr Darcy... If one were the fanciful romantic type, which Darcy definitely wasn’t. He extended a pale hand, looking at best, a little bored. 

“I’m Loki. Your... Client.”

“Darcy. Your date.” It just sounded better, put like that. The same reason one said ‘chatline’ not ‘sexline’, she supposed. Anyway, escort sounded far more armed than she was. A taser craftily concealed in a sequinned clutch did not an escort make, in Darcy’s humble estimation. Loki smiled briefly, and she smiled back.

“So, where are we going?” The file had given a final address, but Darcy wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to be murdered in a dumpster. If he said “This little back-alley I know,” she would tase him and get the fuck out of Dodge.

“It’s my father’s annual charity dinner. He holds them around this time of year.”

“Oh.” Darcy looked down at her beautiful shoes, and then realised that in doing that, she left herself open to being locked into position by the scary underwear. She struck out again, vaguely aware that a escort was supposed to make polite conversation.

“So, your family is Icelandic, isn’t it?” 

“Yes. You’ve been doing some homework.” Loki crossed his legs. They were actually pretty long. Which meant she’d been wrong about him being short as well.

“Yes, a little. You don’t sound very Icelandic though.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. Darcy wondered if she’d been too blunt. More importantly, would Natasha be pissed about it? Loki smirked.

“Direct little thing, aren’t you?”

Darcy bristled internally, but managed to maintain the pleasant face she’d carefully constructed. It wasn’t hard. She just imagined Loki sitting on porcupines.

“To answer your question, I was mostly educated in England, and my family have extensive interests in the US. I find that the English accent tends to have more universal appeal than the Icelandic.”

“Oh.” It made sense, in a way. A British accent was also less likely to stand out than sounding like Swedish Chef, and from what Darcy had got from her pdf, Loki preferred not to stand out. What didn’t make sense was why Iceland’s answer to Mr Rochester was having to hire an escort when it was clear he could have swooped on anyone and then swooped them away to spend an evening playing Cinderella in scary underwear.

“Would you like champagne?” Loki cut into her thoughts abruptly.

“Er, sure.” 

Loki opened a bottle without it gushing everywhere, which Darcy hadn’t known was possible, and poured it one-handed into two glasses. Darcy waited for him to make a joke about not drinking dramatic pause wine. But he just handed a glass to her. Darcy took it, and sipped cautiously. Natasha said her safety for the evening was assured, and it didn’t actually taste like roofies. Whatever roofies were supposed to taste like.

“So, er, this formal dinner...” She was going to get this polite conversation thing down if it killed her.

“It’ll be dull, long, and full of very rich people.”

“And the people?”

“Much the same.”

Darcy laughed, and Loki looked a little gratified. Darcy wondered how many women usually laughed at his jokes, and then kicked herself. The man was clearly stunning. Of course women laughed at his jokes. She really did want to know why he’d hired an escort. But that was a question not even Darcy, who could be to polite conversation what a steam-roller was to a Warner Brothers cartoon character, was going to ask. She sighed. Being a sexline goddess was much easier. Loki was staring at her.

“What?” she asked, and cleared her throat. “I mean, er...”

“I was just wondering what a nice girl like you was doing in a place like this.” 

“My uncle touched me.” Darcy deadpanned, and had a moment of exquisite glee as Loki’s face sort of solidified. Take that, patronising person. She savoured it for a few minutes before saying, 

“No, I’m kidding. My uncle’s dead.”

He stared at her. She fought to keep a straight face. She was probably going to get put out on the next street corner, but it was worth it.

“I’m a normal Mid-Western girl who burned out halfway through a political science degree. I’m working at SHIELD to build up some money to get through the other half.”

Loki leaned back on the seats. The arrogant little smirk was gone, and he actually looked human, and less like some spoiled princeling brat. She preferred it, which was dumb because she wasn’t supposed to have a preference. That was pretty much in the job description, when it came down to it. The car hushed to an indulgent stop and the door opened. Loki got out first, and cameras flashed.

“No one said anything about cameras!” Darcy squeaked. 

Loki held out a hand. “Are you coming?”

“No! Cameras!” Darcy really didn’t like the idea of cameras. What if her mother saw a picture of her?

Loki rolled his eyes impatiently.

“Fine, since you are such a scaredy little thing...”

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.” Darcy scowled at him. “I fear my mother much more than being branded a coward.”

“No one will know what you really are.” Loki rolled his eyes again. He was going to roll them right out of his skull if he wasn’t careful. Good.

“You say that but my mother has powers. She will know. The more I don’t want her to know, the more she will definitely know.”

Loki looked a little disappointed, although Darcy was pretty sure it was a trick of the light.

“Fine, I’ll get Carl to...”

Darcy suddenly realised that he meant retreat. Going round the back like a dirty little secret. Which, she was, but retreat was far more unacceptable.

“Fine, fine. Jeez,” she grumbled, to herself and to Loki. She did an un-lady-like butt shuffle and swung her legs elegantly out of the car. The flashes redoubled and she thought _Mom is going to absolutely hit the roof..._ but Loki was sweeping them through the mob of paparazzi. He looked down at her.

“Something wrong?”

“No. Just you know, smiling.” Darcy muttered through clenched teeth.

“I should stop then, if I were you.” 

And then they were indoors, and Darcy could catch her breath. Well, she could if she could stop pretending she wasn’t. 

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Loki said, superciliously. Darcy considered tasing him on principle.

“Brother! It’s good to see you made it!” This voice did sound quite Icelandic, because that was probably what it was. It hardly sounded like Swedish Chef at all. It belonged to an exceptionally tall blond man with a beard and smiling blue eyes.

“Wow, a Viking,” she mumbled, and Loki snickered. Standing between the two men, she didn’t feel so bad about the heels. If it hadn’t been for them, she would have a serious Bilbo feeling right now. Short and hairy. Sexy.

“And who is this?” The Viking beamed down upon her. 

“Darcy, this is my brother, Thor. Thor, this is Darcy, my escort for the evening.” Loki was smirking, an arrogant little quirk of lip that meant he was going to upset someone if it killed him

Thor’s face fell a little at ‘escort’ and Darcy sort of wanted to apologise.

“As you please, brother,” he said, with a disappointed little lift of his shoulders. 

“I do please.” Loki raised his chin, almost inviting Thor to give him a tap.

Darcy suddenly knew what the tip of the iceberg felt like when it sees a big old ocean-liner hove into view. She shivered, and Loki broke his staring match with his brother and turned to her, the very forgery of concern. 

“My dear, are you cold? We should go inside.” He took her by the elbow. Darcy rolled her eyes and could have sworn Thor did the same thing. That made her feel better, somehow. Loki lead her through an enormous ballroom, heavy on the marble, gold leaf and vaguely pre-Raphaelite paintings. It was kind of tacky, but when that much money is holding up the ceiling, you can afford to tawdry a little. There were plenty of round tables on the polished floor, with white tablecloths and sparkling tableware. A long table took up one end, presumably for guests of honour — Darcy couldn’t see this being the sort of shindig with a buffet. Expensively dressed people floated around the room — the women looked like sleek butterflies, murmuring classy greetings and looking like none of them ever got stuck in the ladies swearing quietly and trying to pull up a pair of scary compression knickers. The men stayed still, drinking from expensive-looking glasses and having no doubt urbane conversations about stocks and art-dealing.

“Hey, English! Did you check out the bathroom? It’s got two-ply paper. Beats nettles, huh?” It was Tony Stark. Unlike Loki, he would never require introduction. Tony was a womanising capitalist who represented the ultimate corruption of the American dream, or a philanthropist billionaire trying to make a difference the only way he knew, depending on your source. Darcy had written a paper on Stark Industries, arguing that it was an example of how capitalism could be beneficial to a country, mainly to piss off her tutor, who thought Marx was the reincarnation of Jesus.

“You are disgusting, Stark.” Loki sneered. Tony grinned at him, entirely unabashed, and handed him a glass. 

“And who is this? Sorry I didn’t bring you a glass, sweetheart...”

“No problem.” Darcy managed. There was a small part of her screaming ‘be professional this is Tony Stark oh my god for once in your life be professional’, and when Tony turned a charming smile on her, the sort that should have a little ting of light off it, Darcy had to resist the urge to giggle like a school-girl, despite herself. It was a good thing her underwear was able to hold her up without any kind of input from her, because otherwise she might have just melted and flowed away.

“This is my escort for the evening. Her name is Darcy.” Loki put his hand at her elbow again. Tony Stark let out a whoop of laughter that caused a few people nearby to turn their heads.

“I can’t believe you actually did it!”

Loki smiled modestly, and Darcy had a moment of clarity. A bet made way more sense than someone that gorgeous not being able to find a date on his own. Tony Stark took out a wallet that had no doubt been bought with the profits of his latest StarkPhone. Darcy had eschewed it as a hollow symbol of a decadent and shallow society. Also she couldn’t afford one. He opened it, and paused.

“Wait, Darcy, right? Are you definitely...”

“Yes, I am being paid to be here.” Darcy felt a little cheap when she said that, even though the number that Natasha had told her had a lot of zeroes on it.

“Sorry, but this guy’s got a hell of a poker face.” Tony pulled out a wodge of bills and Loki disappeared it into his own pocket. He didn’t look at Darcy. Tony smiled at her again.

“I’m Tony, by the way. You a SHIELD girl?”

“Er, yeah.”

“I thought so. I gotta go schmooze while the schmoozing is easy, Pepper insisted, but I’ll see you guys at the top table, okay?” And he waltzed off, waving at someone across the room. There was an awkward silence. 

“So... That was Tony Stark.”

“Short, isn’t he?” Darcy commented. 

Loki made a little choking noise. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sure.”

Loki snagged a waiter and got two glasses of champagne. He handed one to her, and Darcy pretended like she didn’t get goosebumps when her fingers touched his. Darcy was a sucker for pretty eyes just like anyone else, but she was also pretty sure that actually going all gooshy for the client was way too _Pretty Woman_ to be acceptable practice. She sipped champagne and concentrated on the taste, rather than the thought of those long clever fingers on her body, and watched Tony Stark’s erratic course through the room. As she watched, he accosted a tall man with a grey beard and an eyepatch by literally plucking on his sleeve. Loki cursed in what was probably Icelandic. It was a good language to curse in.

“What?” Darcy asked, watching Tony smile up at the older man.

“My father.” Loki looked actually worried, for the first time that evening.

“Will he not see the joke?”

“No, but Stark does. Oh, that bastard...”

Tony caught Loki’s eye and waved until Loki waved, presumably because he was worried that Tony would smack his Dad in the face. Darcy smiled, despite herself. Despite herself was looking to be a bit of a theme this evening. Loki looked annoyed. Also a bit of a theme this evening.

“Maybe we could just sneak off...?” Darcy suggested. 

“Loki, hey, look who’s here?” Tony yelled. Loki gave him the sort of look that should have melted lead.

“Hello Loki,” Daddy Odinson looked like a pirate who had realised there was more money in banking. Darcy drowned the rising giggles with champagne.

“And who is your charming companion?” 

Loki’s expression solidified again, and Darcy found herself stepping forward. 

“Darcy. Loki invited me.” She smiled at him and extended a hand.

“Good to meet you. I’m Odin, Loki’s father.” Daddy Odinson (except, she remembered, it wasn’t really, it was Odin Borson due to the bizarre way Vikings named each other) bowed over her hand in an old-fashioned gesture. 

“Likewise.” Darcy resisted the urge to curtsy. 

“Do you work with my son?” Odin asked. 

“In a way. I’m doing some free-lancing.”

“I see.” Odin cut his eye to Loki, who visibly squirmed. “Unfortunately, I must go play host, but I hope you have a pleasant evening. Loki, remember our appointment tomorrow.”

“I know...” Loki sounded like a sulky teenager. Darcy had this image of him as an awkward fifteen-year-old emo and had to bury her nose in her champagne again. Odin gave her a slightly knowing look and bowed to her before striding off.

“Oh, don’t look after him like that. He knew what you were really.” Loki snapped.

“Yeah, but you’re the one in trouble. He’s going to chew you out, huh.”

“No, we have a business meeting every week. He’s just going to aggressively not say anything about it.”

“Ah. He’s never met my mother, has he?”

“Is she Icelandic?”

“No, Methodist.”

This got a smile. He was about to say something, but at that moment a man with white gloves and tails announce that if the ladies and gentlemen would like to sit down, dinner would be served.

“Come on, we’re at the top table. For better or worse.”

“I’ve never been at a top table before. I’ve never even been a bridesmaid.” It was a very big table, after all. 

Loki held out an arm and smiled reassuringly. “You can’t do worse than Stark.”

Darcy took his arm, although considering she had seen last seen Tony Stark take a whole tray of canapes and wander around eating them, she wasn’t sure she was reassured. They walked up to the long able and sat down. Hidden by the tablecloth, Darcy eased her feet and calves. The shoes looked amazing, but heels were basically beautiful torture machines. Loki sat down and assumed what Darcy was coming to think of as his bored-of-this-shit face. 

 

Dinner was a feast. Sushi for starters, in a pretty swirly pattern. Then soup, tomatoey and rich. The main was beef, still red in the middle and served with mashed potato and an artistic pile of vegetables. The dessert was a meringue that evaporated on the tongue in a lemony drift. Thor leaned over.

“Is everything to your liking?”

“Oh, yeah, this is amazing.” Darcy smiled at the big guy. She had to give him points for trying. According to the pdf, Thor Odinson had a squeaky clean image, carefully maintained. Usually, he wouldn’t be seen dead with anyone who wasn’t worth at least a million dollars. Loki didn’t have an image, as such. He had spent the meal concentrating on the conversation between Odin and Tony Stark, which was in keeping with what the pdf said. Thor did glad-handing, his father was a negotiating legend in the business world, and Loki did the sort of power behind the throne thing. Like a Grand Vizier but less obviously evil. Loki caught her staring and cocked an enquiring eyebrow. 

“Everything alright?”

“Just wondering if Thor would be the handsome prince or the pretty princess.”

Loki coughed into his wine-glass. “I think the handsome prince.”

“That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think? I bet if you did something with his hair...”

“No no, trust me on this.” Loki waved a hand to prove his point.

Darcy raised her own eyebrow. “Experience talking?”

“I swore I’d never tell.” Loki assumed an expression of angelic innocence. Darcy called bullshit on it immediately.

“Tell what?” Thor leaned over, companionably.

“I’m not telling her anything. Certainly not about the time you got up in drag to foil the campus mugger...” Loki grinned evilly and Thor groaned and covered his eyes while Darcy giggled.

“Pink isn’t his colour,” Loki explained, his eyes dancing. Darcy felt another little poke from her libido, which was pretty much scratching at the door with it’s leash in it’s mouth. She mentally waved a rolled up newspaper at it. Tony Stark leaned past Loki, despite that worthy’s growl of irritation.

“Who are we mocking? Can it be English?” He was sucking the decorative chocolate swirl from his meringue, and Loki rolled his eyes.

“You are a savage, Stark. Is it just you, or are all Americans thus?”

“I love when you talk Shakespeare to me.” Tony gave a theatrical shiver. “Gets me right here.”

“Really, Stark. Darcy here has never been on a top table before, and this is what she finds we discuss?” Loki pushed Tony out of his space.

“It’s pretty much as I expected. I was a political science major in a previous life. I’ve been taught all about the decadent ways of the capitalist.” She tried to look like a lofty socialist, but was thwarted by the fact that she didn’t know what a socialist would look like.

“Oh my gawd. Are you paying your way through college?” Tony was a little drunk, Darcy realised.

“Sort of, makes a change to med school, right? Isn’t that what girls like me are usually working towards?”

Tony cackled with laughter that made Loki wince and push him away again.

“Oh man, you know, they always send you the right girl at SHIELD. If it wasn’t for the fact that Pepper would kill me, I’d totally let them quote me on that.”

Darcy wondered if she should tell him about what her job actually was at SHIELD, but Tony was already being drawn back into conversation with Odin. Darcy caught a glimpse of his face as he listened, and was pretty sure Tony Stark was not as drunk as he’d like her to think.

 

By the time the last plate was cleared away, the room started to circulate and relax, people getting up and sitting in different seats. The room filled with the slurry of well-fed gossip.

“So, how are you finding it?” Loki asked.

“Pretty swanky. I like the chandelier.” 

Somewhere in the main room, Tony cackled with laughter again.

“He’s not nearly as drunk as he wants everyone to think, is he?” Darcy asked, putting her chin on her hand for a moment.

“Tony prefers to confuse his enemies.” Loki smiled briefly. 

“It works. I wrote a report on him once. No two sources agree on him, it’s great.”

“Don’t tell him that, you’ll only make him worse.” Loki finished his wine and stood. “We should circulate before our time is up.” 

She didn’t talk much as they moved among the glittering throng. Mainly because it was the hello-darling-how- _are_ -you-darling-have-you-met-have-you-heard variety. Darcy wasn’t really one for celebrity gossip and she didn’t know most of the people there anyway, since most of them were the type of rich that meant you could afford to stay out of the papers.

“Are you bored?” Loki asked as they moved on from an older guy with a moustache that finally gave Darcy a chance to use the word ‘elephantine’.

“How could I be bored?” Darcy asked sweetly.

“I knew there was a reason I only see most of these people once a year. I don’t think I could stand the excitement otherwise.”

Their perambulations had taken them to the foyer, leaving the party behind. 

“Where are we going?” Darcy asked, confused.

“Back to my hotel,” Loki replied, as though it was obvious.

“Er, the deal was the dinner party.” Darcy stopped walking.

“I’ll pay the extra. Your company has my credit card details. I wasn’t planning on it, but you’ve proved such engaging company...”

Darcy took a step back with a sudden nasty suspicion. “Hey, I don’t do that sort of thing. Escort only.”

“And phone sex.” Loki stepped forward, looking a bit impatient. “Fine, I’ll pay cash if you prefer.”

“I don’t prefer anything.” Darcy was starting to feel annoyed herself. “I don’t do going back to hotel rooms. Not for any money. It’s illegal.”

“It’s your job!” Another couple walked into the room and Loki stepped closer again, lowering his voice. “It is though!”

“No it’s not! It’s illegal. You should know that. I want to go home.” Darcy folded her arms and gave him slitty eyes. Loki took a step back again.

“Fine. Fine.” He threw up his hands and didn’t speak to her as walked her to the curb and flagged down a cab. Darcy got into it, and went home. 

 

The next day she took the dress and shoes back to Barton. He looked at the dress and then nodded to her. And that was it. Her brief fling with the rich and famous was over. She went back to her office where Jane was practically hanging from the doorframe for gossip.

“Well? How was it?”

“Kind of dull. The food was good though.” Darcy shared the sordid details over coffee. Jane squeaked when she mentioned Tony Stark.

“That was your chance, Darcy! Why didn’t you take it? You could have been Mrs Stark.”

“No, I think that would be terrible. Anyway, sounds like Pepper Potts has him pretty firmly under her thumb...”

She didn’t mention the little bit of dickery at the end of the night. She didn’t want to ruin Jane’s image of Darcerella and her fairy god-Barton.

After lunch, she received an unusual call.

“Darcy?”

“Er, yes?” Darcy opened the records attached to the client ID. Only one previous call to the chatline, and it had been to her...

 

“It’s Loki. Listen, I asked around and I wanted to ask you out for dinner. To... To try again.”

“For a fee?”

“Well...”

“Listen, I told you, I don’t do that sort of thing. It’s entirely illegal. Don’t dress it up like a date, because it’s clearly not.” Darcy snapped. She suddenly felt angry. She didn’t like the idea of being bought and sold. Not on these terms.

“I didn’t...”

“No, you didn’t, did you?” She hung up. She didn’t think anyone would blame her. Jane was on her lunch break, thank god, or it could have been awkward.

 

The flowers arrived the next day. They were beautiful, all colours of the rainbow, and a little card that said _Deepest apologies. Found out am massively ignorant of American ways. Would enjoy the chance to meet with you again. L._

“I don’t get it. Does he want an actual date?” Jane asked, waving the card.

“I guess? I don’t know. I think he wants to sleep with me, but I told him no, I think.” Darcy grabbed the card as it went past.

“No?”

“Well, I told him I wouldn’t do it for money.” Darcy frowned at the card again. It was handwritten, and usually florists printed off any card. She twisted her mouth.

“Maybe you should go.” Jane shrugged.

“What? Why?” Darcy looked up, startled.

“Well, he sent you flowers.”

“And?”

“Well, if he was trying to buy you in a different way, he’d have sent something expensive. Like diamonds. Flowers have a sort of... Impermanence, I guess.”

“Did you learn that from Harlequin or Austen.” Darcy looked at the card again. “Well, I suppose I’d think about it. If he calls.”

“He will call. From a phone box in the rain.” Jane caught Darcy’s expression. “Well, it might happen! I mean, if it happens in the movies, it must be at least plausible.”

“You ever see _Night of the Lepus_?”

“Point taken. But Richard Curtis never lies.”

“Richard Curtis can go stick his head in a pig.” Darcy went to toss the card in the bin, and then stopped. After all, it wasn’t everyday that a handsome billionaire sent you flowers.

 

He finally called around three. 

“Did you like the flowers?”

“They’re very pretty,” Darcy replied, stiffly.

“I hope they start to make up for my poor behaviour.”

“Hmm.” Darcy leaned back on her chair. “I don’t get what this is all about, Loki. I mean, we had a nice time. Let’s leave it at that.”

“But I can’t!” He almost wailed it. “I hired you to annoy Thor, which you did, by the way, and now I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“And you think what, fucking me will solve that?”

“No...”

“Nice.” Darcy hung up. It felt good.

 

In the intervening two weeks between that act and this, the flowers died, but Darcy kept the card in her keepsake box at home. She tried not to think about Loki at all. However, this was like trying not to think about pink elephants when someone shouts it at you whilst watching _Dumbo_. It was annoying, really. They’d had a pretty good evening, there had been good food and some chemistry, but really, what more did she want? But she kept thinking of him. Not the arrogant bored with this shit bit, but the sulky teenager, the heckled friend, and the bratty little brother. She wished she’d got to talk to those bits of him more. But in the end, it had been the arrogance that had won out. And okay, if there had been some sneaky little fantasies there, who was counting? She was a grown woman, after all, and what she got up to in her little flat was nobody’s business except her and Mr Jackowitz next door, because the walls were kind of thin.

 

Her phone rang. It was an inside line.

“Darcy Lewis speaking. 165928.” She’d been getting a lot of calls from people trying to call tech support recently, presumably because they had changed everyone’s numbers without telling them.

“Lewis. I’ve had a request for you.” It was Natasha.

“Well, put them through...”

“No, this is escort work again. You game?” Natasha was shuffling paperwork.

“Er, yes, I suppose.” 

“It’s a big client. I need someone who’s sure.”

“I want to do it. Send me the file and let me know when I have to get togged up...”

“Detail now, if you can. You’re meeting him for lunch.” Lunch? But it was half eleven. 

“But the file...”

“It’s Tony Stark.”

Darcy stared at the phone. “Really?”

“Really. Are you going to detail or not?”

“Right away ma’am.”

 

Clint Barton gave her cotton blouse and skirt a critical once over, and then handed her a pair of low heels to replace her sneakers. He did her make-up but left her hair in it’s messy bun.

“Very sexy librarian,” he said, finally. 

“Does that mean I’m pretty?” Darcy gave him innocent face.

Barton gave her a look. Darcy tried not to wince. Guy was scary.

 

She ended up taking a taxi to a well-known up-market place in town called Chez Charlie. It was known to do great steak, if you didn’t mind taking out a second mortgage to buy one. Darcy instantly felt dowdy and cheap. Why hadn’t Barton dressed her up? She looked down at the shoes. The shoes were really good. Anyone with shoes like that deserved to be in Chez Charlie. Yeah. Right. Tony waved at her from where he was sitting and she picked her way through the tables to where he was sitting. 

“Hey Darcy, good to see you again. Did you have a nice time at the party?”

“Yes. The food was very good.” Darcy smiled politely and tucked her legs under her chair like she saw Julie Andrews do in _The Princess Diaries_.

“Yeah, Odin finds people who are well fed give away their money more easily.”

“Smart man.” Darcy opened the menu in a slightly speculative way. She took a look at the prices and shut it again.

“Definitely.” Tony turned and flagged down a waiter. “Do you want cocktails? Let’s have martinis. Do you like martinis?”

“Vodka martinis?”

Tony smiled approvingly. “Good girl. I ordered us both the steak. You seem like a medium rare type of girl.”

“I am.” Darcy tilted her head. “How did you know that?”

“You liked the beef.”

“Ah.” Definitely not as drunk as he was making out. “So, what’s this all about, Tony?”

Tony pouted. “We’re supposed to do at least like, twenty minutes of small talk before getting down to business. You never been invited out for lunch by a wealthy businessman before?”

“Well, now you mention it... Is this about Loki?” Darcy decided to just get down to it.

Tony looked coy. “It might be. How do you know I don’t just want your company?”

“Because Pepper would kill you.” Darcy swallowed some of her martini. It was good, and had three olives on a stick. Darcy approved of any drink that came with edible bits. 

“True. I bet that wasn’t in the file—"

Darcy stopped caring about her drink and glared at Tony instead. 

"Don’t give me that look," he said quickly. "Who do you think recommended SHIELD to Loki in the first place?” Tony picked up his own glass and downed most of it in one gulp.

“You did?” 

“Oh yeah. What?” Tony said, defensively. “Even billionaire philanthropist playboys get lonesome sometimes.” 

Darcy almost laughed. There was a pause as the steaks came out, with baked potato, coleslaw and corn on the cob. The corn on the cob was a cruel touch. How is anyone supposed to eat corn on the cob without just sort of gnawing it? Darcy decided the best thing to do was wait to see what Tony did. Tony scarfed some steak and potato and washed it down with red wine.

“Sorry, been busy, don’t think I ate... Er...” He forked up a couple more mouthfuls of coleslaw and then swallowed.

“Listen, you broke him.”

“What? I broke him? I never touched your pet Viking!” Darcy waved a fork angrily. “He started it!”

“Well, I don’t know what happened but he’s gone all boring since he met you. He just sulks all the time.”

Darcy had eaten some of the steak. It was the best she’d ever tasted, which made the fact that she was so angry even more irritating. No one should be cross whilst eating the best steak they’d ever tasted. She tried eating some of the coleslaw instead and that just made it worse, because the coleslaw was perfect as well. She cleared her mouth.

“Well, this isn’t my fault. He should get over it.”

“Look, here’s the deal. You go see him, he stops being so mopey.”

“So you want me to ease your guilt.” Darcy ate more steak, bitterly. Maybe the corn on the cob was to beat your dinner partner with. A sort of martial version of Charlie Chaplin.

“Exactly. Anyway, you like him as well. I could tell.”

“What of it? He tried to buy sex off me!” Darcy managed to keep her voice down.

“Oh jeez, look, that’s my fault. He got set on buying a hooker to take to a fancy do, because he knew it would upset his brother. I got him to do it in America, so I could watch. I knew SHIELD were good and got him to go to you guys. I guess he got the number wrong, and then he thought it would be even funnier to bring one of the sexline workers, in case you were like, a fat woman in leggings or something — ”

Darcy opened her mouth to protest, and Tony held up his fork, smeared with steak juice and potato.

“Let me finish. But then he got you. And what I didn’t realise, was that he didn’t know that an escort is different from an actual hooker. So it’s only sort of his fault he tried to you know, buy you.”

“So what does this have to do with him being all sulky?”

“Well, now he can’t stop thinking about you, as far as I can tell. You’ve got him hooked, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

“...So you want me to have sex with him so he’ll forget me?”

“No, I want you to go on some dates with him and then have sex with him and then if it doesn’t work out, my conscience is clear.” Tony wasn’t really smiling any more. In fact, Darcy couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. Tony Stark had a hella poker face.

“Fine. I’ll meet him,” she said, finally, and handed him her cellphone number. “But there are no promises. If he’s an ass, that’s it.”

“Well, he’s kind of a natural ass. I dunno if..."

Darcy gave him her death glare again, since it seemed pretty effective.

"Okay okay, I’ll tell him, jeez.” Tony raised his wine-glass defensively, trying to protect himself.

After that, they turned to more inconsequential chat. Tony could be pretty witty when he wanted to be, and Darcy could kind of understand why he might prefer the company of an escort occasionally. It must be nice to talk to someone who is bound by contract not to gossip, and to talk about exactly what you want to talk about, rather than business or whatever.

She left lunch in a thoughtful frame of mind. It was true the original sting of Loki’s trying to buy her thing had worn off somewhat, but even then... She almost let the cab go past SHIELD and knocked her head gently against her desk when she got back to her office. _Pull it together woman. He might not even call..._

 

Darcy was actually in the coffee room when he did call, moodily eating a berliner and waiting for the coffee to be coffee. Jane came bouncing into the room.

“Your phone your phone it’s him!” she hissed, holding it out like it might bite her. Darcy snatched it and spat a mouthful of donut into her hand. Jane made a face and Darcy made one right back.

“Hello?”

“Darcy?” It was him. Loki, that is. Darcy was suddenly very aware she’d spat a mouthful of donut into her hand and that was entirely unclassy.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to come to dinner tonight? At Chez Charlie. I’ll pay, of course.”

“Dinner tonight?” 

Jane started nodding so vigorously that Darcy thought her head might just fly off and roll down the hall. 

“Er...” She just managed to stop it from turning into a giggle. “Sure, I guess.”

“I’ll see you there at eight.”

“Fine.”

And that was it. A date made. Darcy put the mouthful of donut back in her mouth. Jane made a face again.

“You have no romance in your soul, Darcy Lewis.”

“Yeah, like Lizzie Bennett never got caught with her mouth full.” Darcy mumbled through a mouthful of sugar.

 

Since Barton was not on hand with scary underwear or scary faces, Darcy had to make do with her own dress, and her own make-up. She wasn’t quite Clint Barton beautiful, but she figured she’d do. Loki was already waiting when she showed up, and he smiled and kissed her hand, a move he just about pulled off.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, smiling down at her. Darcy smiled back.


End file.
